On May 15, Manhattan awoke beneath the morning sun.
When Li Fei opened his eyes, Monica was still curled up in his arms, her long black hair scattered across the pillow, her breathing even and soft. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, New York's skyline had been dyed gold by the rising sun, while the greenery of Central Park in the distance looked especially vivid in the morning light.
He gently slipped his arm free. Monica shifted and lazily opened her eyes.
"What time is it?"
"Seven." Li Fei bent down and kissed her forehead. "Want to sleep a little longer?"
Monica shook her head, a faint smile appearing on her lips. "No more sleeping." Her hand slid down his chest. "I think there's something more important to do."
Li Fei raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Your training doesn't start until tomorrow, right?" Monica's voice was husky from sleep, making it especially seductive. "So today's completely free?"
"Completely free." Li Fei rolled over and pinned her beneath him. "So we can..."
Laughing, Monica wrapped her arms around his neck and answered him with her actions.
An hour later, the two finally emerged from the bedroom. Li Fei wore simple gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, while Monica had slipped on one of his jerseys—the commemorative edition from the 1997 Finals, with "LI" and the number 34 printed on the back.
"You look good in that." Li Fei leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Monica make coffee.
The Italian goddess turned around and gave him a captivating glance. "I know."
Li Fei smiled. This was Monica—an Italian woman's confidence and pride embodied to the fullest in her.
Monica made breakfast. Simple fried eggs, bacon, and toast, paired with freshly ground coffee. The two sat at the dining table before the floor-to-ceiling windows, eating as